


What Should Have Been

by opheliasheart



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Death, F/F, Family, Grief/Mourning, Pregnancy, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 07:02:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4909837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opheliasheart/pseuds/opheliasheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tidal wave of devastation surges through her body, blasting down her barriers. Tears begin to fall from traumatised blue eyes and a painful, heavy sob wracks through her. She breaks down, curling into herself with hands clutching the material that covers her stomach. Black stains her cheeks like the guilt that fills her heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Should Have Been

**Author's Note:**

> The other side of the same coin.

The door slams shut. The art hanging on the wall quivers like Clarke's hands and suddenly a frame crashes to the ground, glass smashing into tiny fragments.

Clarke stands by the sofa, lost in the room that quickly begins to feels too big and empty. Her eyes glance around the room but fail to acknowledge the papers carelessly scattered across the floor or the wine glass that lays partially broken upon the coffee table. The scent of dinner lingers, long forgotten in the aftermath of their clash.

Something catches her eye and she barely summons the energy to focus on a small snow globe on the self at the far end of the room. Numbly, she walks towards it, not registering the broken shards that cut into her feet. She takes the ornament into her hand and inspects the photo trapped inside, the happier version of themselves.

A bitter smirk appears on her face as she clenches her fist tightly around it. Memories flash through her mind. Autumn sunsets, morning bakery runs and hidden tire swings in the woods. The scent of the forest after a spring shower, being soaked through and with no cares, just dancing in the rain. Tall green trees surrounding them, protecting them.

Clarkes eyes snap shut, refusing to think about her.

"No." She says aloud. Her anger builds quickly. Her breathing becoming more ragged, as her inner turmoil becomes too much and she screams throwing the ornament at the opposite wall causing it to shatter. The sound sends her spiralling into a storm of fury. Anything in sight she grabs.

Crashes and cries are all that could be heard. Objects fly across the apartment. The coffee table is overturned, the vase of flowers crash into the mirror above the fireplace. The living room isn't the only victim. She tears into the kitchen, swiping her hands over the counters sending their dinner plates crashing to the floor. Cupboard doors are flung open and hands recklessly fire its occupants to the cold tiles. The champagne flutes that were wedding gifts and expensive bottles of wine collide while the draws are tossed and cutlery flies across the room. With no more to damage, she stalks out of the room and down the hall leaving a small trail of red that blots the cream carpet.

Clarke charges into the bedroom before turning to the wardrobe and viscously wrenching the clothes out. Materials tear as she rips them from the hangers and tosses them carelessly over her shoulder. She stubbles over to the dresser, swipes her arm across the top. Perfume bottles and picture frames shatter as they join the wreckage on the floor.

She turns and moves towards the bed but her foot catches on the discarded clothes and she crashes to the floor.

She moves to raise herself, to continue the destruction but feels her energy dissipate as quick as it appeared. Her eyes scan the room and this time she takes in the debris. Shattered glass and torn fabric lay in the rubble along with the fragments of her life, the near perfect life before devastation tore through it. She takes a deep breath. A moment of no emotion, a moment of nothing. It's like a explosion had gone off inside her and in the immediate aftermath all she can hear is ringing. Numb again. She takes another deep breath.

A tidal wave of devastation surges through her body, blasting down her barriers. Tears begin to fall from traumatised blue eyes and a painful, heavy sob wracks through her. She breaks down, curling into herself with hands clutching the material that covers her stomach. Black stains her cheeks like the guilt that fills her heart.

Time didn't exist.

Darkness had long filled the room before Clarke's sobs had slowed sufficiently for her heart rate to recover. Her senses were slowly appearing, not fully recovered and still a little numb. She could feel a sting in her feet. Her eyes focus on small red patches that stain the carpet and she connects it with the tiny shards of glass that lay scattered across the floor. There is a dull ache in her empty arms. She closes her eyes and wishes it would all just go away.

Slowly she opens them again and looks ahead to the door. Through the gap, she can see the room that she's refused to enter. Her body shudders as a memory flits through her mind but she blocks it and focuses once more. She tries to raise herself to her knees but her body gives out and she falls back on her side. She eyes the door once more before pushing herself up onto her knees, her limbs a little shaky.

With her sight trained ahead, Clarke crawled forward on her hands and knees through the rubble of her destruction, a little more aware of where she places her hands. Her heart clenches tighter with every move forward but she drags herself down the hall and looks up to the door. A trembling hand reaches up to the handle.

This would have been him.

The door swings open. Inside lay a pristine nursery. Unused and untouched.

Clarke drops back to the floor. The blankets remain neatly folded in the basket, Peter Rabbit mobile never played, the little hat never worn. She looks to every item in sight and to the draws that hide more. She knows every little thing about this room. Every muslin and cuddly stuffed animal, every mitten and pacifier. However, she cannot say she has been allowed take part in all the joys that this room could have offered them - that should have offered them.

Footsteps sound from behind her. Clarke, barely registering the noise, glances back only to find herself gazing into that same green forest. The trees are back, tall and protective, but they are a little worn. Rain drips from the leaves that give way in the weight of the down pour, significantly lighter than before. Still, fights and grey skies have worn out these green eyes that she once thought could protect her from anything. But Clarke couldn't even protect them from this.

Lexa just looks at her, giving more through her eyes than words could ever offer.  

'I don't blame you.'

She softly circles her arms around Clarke's waist and Clarke rests her head upon Lexa's shoulder. In that moment, a few fragments of their life weld back together. They are far from whole, pieces lost in the hospital room where they should have been gained.  They are far from finished grieving for their loss, they never will stop. The loss a mother feels when she's lost her child can never be fixed or erased but steps forwards are slowly made. Those steps can be a tip toe forward or sometimes something crashes into them and they stumble backwards. Today though, they take a small step together.

Together they lean against the door and one another, mourning for the precious life lost too soon. Clarke closes her eyes, taking in the feeling of Lexa's warmth against her skin. Maybe, just maybe, this could be enough.

**Author's Note:**

> purplefairywings on Tumblr.


End file.
